Was there any faith or honesty in man?
Her father had been bad and vicious all his life; he had destroyed his daughter's belief in the male sex by the terrible revelations of his death-bed, but her husband--oh!--she had thought him better than this: she had respected and admired him, she had been a good wife, holding her head high and keeping her honour spotless. She was a good mother to his child, and she had done her best in all ways to fulfil the vows made at the marriage altar.
This was her reward! She was deserted for another woman, for a woman who was the vilest of her sex. Her wifely honour had been dragged in the mud, her wifely name had been placed with jeers in the mouths of men and women, and the marriage tie, so sacred in her eyes, had been violated by her husband, by the very man who should have respected its sanctity.
Her first born was playing at her feet in the happy innocence of childhood, a pure soul fresh from the hand of God, who had given her this treasure to nurse and cherish. Yet even now, in its artless babyhood, the shadow of a dark shame was hovering over its golden head, the name it bore was already smirched in the eyes of the world, and its father, who was responsible to God for its well-being, had already degraded it by his own shameful passion.
Ah! all men were the same. Her father was only the type of many others. They loved a woman, or said they loved her, and stayed beside her for a time, yet as soon as they grew weary of her, they flew to the arms of some newer fancy, and not even the sanctity of the marriage tie could restrain their brutal natures. Guy, whom she thought so good and kind, had turned out the same as his fellow men. He had been a good husband for a time, but now, grown weary of his quiet home, satiated with domestic love, weary of his prattling child, he had deliberately flung himself into the arms of this light-o'-love. Well, he would have his reward. The wages of sin is death! and he would be dragged down to destruction by those arms that encircled him so fondly.
But what about herself? What could she do in order to free herself from the companionship of this man who prized her less than he did his dissolute companions? Divorce! Yes, that was the way to break the chain which bound her to the husband she despised. But it was impossible that she could take advantage of the law, for it would reflect on the child in the future, and for the child's sake she would have to remain in the bondage of marriage.
Tearless, cold, and pale as a lily, she sat there with her hands clasping the hateful letter which told her of her husband's treachery and destroyed the happiness of her life. The child, weary of its toys, crawled across the carpet to her feet, and clutching her dress raised itself to its feet with a plaintive cry. She looked downward in dry-eyed misery, saw the wax-like tiny hands clasping her dress, and heard the thin little voice utter its inarticulate prayer to lie on her breast.
The full horror of her position broke on her dulled brain like a flash of light, and with a burst of tears she took up the child and strained him convulsively to her bosom.
Ah, how those tears fell--hot, scalding tears that blistered her cheeks, that burned into her very soul, and that fell on the frightened face of the baby like rain, bitter and salt as the waves of the sea. The child was afraid at this passionate outburst of sorrow and began to cry, but she held him close to her breast and, restraining her tears, hushed him to slumber with a low lullaby rocking to and fro, her heart heavy as lead.
"Alizon!"